The Robin Returns to the Nest
by BabyBatDamian
Summary: Today was his sixteenth birthday. Today was the day that Damian Wayne was to kill the Batman. He had spent the last six years training for this day. Every waking hour was dedicated to sharpening both body and mind, to achieve absolute perfection. Little did his mother know, he had other plans. He was finally ready to return to Gotham.
1. Meditation

He sat cross legged on the floor of the opulent chamber, hands rested gently on his knees, breathing deeply. His eyes were closed and his face peaceful. The young boy was in a deep meditative state.

He took another long, steady breath and held for three seconds. He was entirely focused on his success. He released the air evenly from his mouth, mind clear and relaxed. He was meditating, preparing himself for his most difficult and dangerous mission yet. And he was ready.

Today was his sixteenth birthday. Today was the day that Damian Wayne was to kill the Batman.

His mission was to infiltrate Wayne Manor, disable all accomplices, challenge Batman to single combat and slay him, bringing his head back to his mother as a gift. It was his final challenge to prove that his assassin training was complete. After today, he would be a grand master assassin, of skill that none could dispute. He would be what he was born to be. The world's greatest assassin. The warrior prince of the League of Assassins.

He had spent the last six years training for this day. Every waking hour was dedicated to sharpening both body and mind, to achieve absolute perfection.

As he takes in another long, controlled breath his mind wafts through some of the memories of these past years. His brow furrows slightly as his mind drifts to the day it all began. The day he was pulled from that awful pit. The pain he felt was unimaginable… The screaming still haunts him sometimes. Those terrible screams that pierced his ears, that he just wanted to be silenced. His mind was frantic, panicked. He didn't know where he was, much less who he was. It took some time before he realised that those wretched wails were actually coming from his own mouth.

He had to move his thoughts swiftly on. His resurrection was a painful topic to even think about. He could never dwell on it for long. He recalls everything that his mother had told him, as soon as he began to come back to himself. How she had held him close, and whispered such vile words into his ears, as he shook and sobbed. Graphic descriptions of his death, at his own father's hands. How the Batman had attacked him, calling him weak and pathetic, no true born son of his. A disgrace to the Wayne family and the Robin legacy. She told him of how those he had considered comrades, his brothers and sisters had joined his father in his assault.

She spoke in deceptively soothing tones, of how they had taken turns, attacking the young Robin in pairs for his failure, laughing as he failed to defend himself from their brutal assaults until finally, his father had decided that enough was enough. He would put an end to this miserable excuse for a sidekick. Her cold whispers spoke of how he drew a blade, standing over Damian's broken, beaten body and with no hint of mercy or remorse, drove the point through his young son's chest, watching with cold, hateful eyes as the wide eyed, crying boy died beneath him. When the deed was done, she told him that they all simply walked away. There were no tears, no apologies and no mourning. They turned, and left his little dead body where they had executed him. A failure and a disappointment. A mistake.

His face contorted into a slight scowl as he thought of the worst part. He had believed her.

Having just come from the pit, his consciousness forcefully shoved back into a body no longer his, he was shaken and his mind was broken. He had believed every single word of it, and it broke his heart. He had just returned to life, but all he felt inside was cold and dead. His father… His father whom he loved… And Grayson… And all of the others... They had all killed him. He had never felt a pain like he did in that moment. He felt entirely broken. Betrayed and humiliated. As he listened to his mother's words, his heart shattered into little pieces.

He had re-joined the League of Assassins at his mother's side. His heart was filled with darkness, and his mind clouded with rage. He swore that he would have his vengeance. He would take revenge on every single one of that wretched family for what they had done to him. Each and every one of them would fall at his hand. He would slaughter them all.

His fractured mind had taken it all in. She repeated the story to him so often, in such detail that it became so real in his mind. So vividly painful that while he was unable to think clearly, he could not even fathom how something so hurtful, so crystal clear could be so false. In his broken state, he had blocked out the true events of his death, clouded by his mother's lies and persuasions, her fabrications became the only truth that he knew, unable to recall the real events. Only his mother's story existed.

Over the years that followed, he trained harder than ever before. His improvement was shocking, even to Talia and Ra's. Even his grandfather had to admit, he had never seen a pupil improve so rapidly in all of his years. Damian spent every moment focused on his goal. He worked more than ever, everything in his life revolved around his revenge. If he was deadly before, now he had become the perfect weapon. He had very quickly established himself as one of the most deadly assassins in the League, feared by all, whether they would admit it or not. He knew.

And Ra's knew. Damian was exceeding every expectation, perfecting every technique and passing every challenge presented to him with flawless results. It was exactly what he had always wanted. The perfect successor, or the perfect vessel for his consciousness. Though as he watched his young grandson become more and more powerful every day, a thought began to float around the back of his mind.

This boy… This boy was dangerous. Not only was he a naturally born killer, with skill beyond what most could even comprehend, but he was intelligent. He would have to keep a close eye on this one… He was a threat. If they lost their control over him, the results could be disastrous. His daughter had created something that troubled him. The perfect assassin, driven, determined and bent on perfection in everything he did.

Ra's was right to worry. As the years went by, Damian began to think more and more about his death. About the family that he was determined to destroy. He thought back to his time with them. He had been so convinced… So sure that at least some of them had genuinely cared for him. He was so certain that his father had at least grown somewhat fond of him… That Grayson at least had loved him… But they must not have. They killed him, didn't they? Mother said so… But… But there was something in the back of his mind. He did not know what, but there was something wrong. Something that he just could not understand right away. But slowly, very slowly, it became clear what had been done to him.

Over the years, he and his mother went on a number of missions to Gotham. Many were in preparation for his final challenge, to invade Wayne manor and slay the Batfamily. He had easily gotten them past all of Batman's security systems, sneaking them into the Batcave, and even into the manor itself. Several times they stood over Bruce's bed, watching him sleep. Seeing his father again, the man he believed had murdered him, it made his blood boil. He wanted to kill him there and then, knife in hand and ready to strike. But Talia had stopped him. She claimed the time was not yet right, and forced him to wait. He hated her for that.

Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him. Around the age of fourteen, after any solo mission he was sent on that brought him anywhere near Gotham, he began to sneak into the city and spy on his old family. He was never seen, always remaining incredibly cautious. His mother insisted that they were not to know he was alive. Not until he was ready to kill them.

During these little espionage trips, he began to notice something strange. It appeared as if his former family actually… Missed him… But that could not be it… It made no sense. Why would they kill him, only to mourn him afterwards?

He continued to make regular trips to spy on them, following each one of them. Even Todd. And sure enough, each and every one of them exhibited signs of mourning. Every one of them. He was baffled…

On the anniversary of his death, he had once again snuck off to Gotham. On that day, he found himself following his father. The man was not himself. His face lacked its usual careful neutrality, showing blatant sadness. Very odd… He exited the manor, walking out to the graveyard to stop before Damian's now empty grave. He stood in silence for a long time, so long that the young assassin almost got bored of watching him, before finally, he broke down. The his stoic, brooding father openly wept, sobbing loudly and gasping out apologies.

That had shaken Damian to his very core. Why would this man be weeping for him? His mother had told him that every one of them had been happy to do away with him… That they had all moved on and tried to forget about him…

He ran. He couldn't look any longer. He was so confused… But slowly, very slowly it began to click. He began to realise that his family did love him… And they missed him. They did not want him dead at all… So… His mother had lied to him… She lied!

As the realisation hit him, suddenly all of the memories that he had blocked out came back to him. His death at the hands of that clone… That clone that his mother still kept around! She did this… This was all her fault! Six years later, six years of hating his father with every fiber of his being, and only now he realised that it was all a lie.

Damian was furious with himself, disgusted that he had allowed himself to be tricked in this way. He could not believe he had stood by his mother's side all of this time, that he had killed for her, betrayed everything that his father had taught him… All for a lie.

But now he knew. Now he knew the truth. And there would be hell to pay for this bitter betrayal.

Today was the day that Damian Wayne was to kill the Batman. Little did his mother know, he had other plans.


	2. The Escape

Damian's eyes open, stormy blue and determined. He lets the last breath out slowly, centred and focused. He was ready. It was now or never, and never simply was not an option. He stands, stretching and ensuring that his body was ready for what he had to do. Even after all of his meditation, he felt the nerves in the pit of his stomach. This would be risky, even for him. If he failed… No. He could not think like that. He was Damian Al Ghul Wayne. Failure was not an option, never again.

He took one last steadying breath, going over his plan one last time in his mind. He could do this. He had to. There was no other alternative. He had to escape. He was being lied to and used as a weapon. He would not allow that any longer.

He marches from his chambers, clad in his customary white and black assassin gear, two swords sheathed on his back. He strides confidently through the halls of the lair, unchallenged. Most of the assassins were out, currently on a large mission with his grandfather. That made today perfect for his escape. Just one less obstacle. Those that were present would not dream of challenging their prince. That would lead to certain death, most likely at his own hands.

He arrives at his destination quickly. The door was guarded by three assassins, but that did not matter. His target was behind that door, and nothing and no one would stand in his way. Before the first assassin can even complete her respectful bow, Damian's first sword sings through the air, and her head rolls across the floor, her body falling in a heap a moment later. The other two assassin start, shocked by the unwarranted assault before drawing their weapons.

They might as well not have bothered. The youngest Wayne darted at them with no hesitation, leaping into the air, parrying a swing of one man's sword easily, deflecting it to the side as the point of his other blade pierces the man's throat, dropping him in a gurgling mess. While still in the air, he catches the wrist of the final assassin between his feet, and as his blade pierced the other's neck, he twisted his feet sharply, breaking the wrist they held. Before the assassin could even cry out in pain, he had already landed, swooping behind him, one hand coming around to cover his mouth as he drove his blade through the man's back, piercing his heart and protruding through his chest, like a knife through butter.

That done, Damian turned from the fallen, striding towards the door, entirely unaffected by their deaths. They were fools to try and challenge him. He sheathed his blades once more, entering the security codes for the door. When you were given security clearance of the level he had, breaking into secure areas was ridiculously easy.

The door opened before him, and he quickly darted inside. What he saw was like a scene from a horror film. Suspended in pods around the room, he saw hundreds of himself. Clones. Spare parts, replacements, the perfect army… The possibilities were endless. There was no way that he could leave a resource such as this army in the League's hands after he escaped. No… He had been used enough. He would never be used by this "family" again, and he would not allow any of these clones to be used as he had been.

He had to destroy them. There was nothing else he could do… He could not leave them in the hands of the League. They would be much too dangerous. He approaches the control panels, quickly entering the necessary security codes, and set to work. It did not take too long, but when the time came to initiate the program, he hesitated. His hand was shaking ever so slightly, and his breathing became slightly irregular. This was proving more difficult than he thought it would be… He knew he had to do it. He had believed himself to be prepared for it. But now, faced with the reality of it… Now he feared the pain that he was about to cause himself, and all of these poor creatures.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No. He had to. For the good of the world. And in a sick way, for their own good. Whatever they suffered now, it would be nothing compared to what he had been put through over the years. He knew that.

With one last breath, he initiated his mother's failsafe program. He wanted to run. Every part of him was screaming to run, don't look, just run. But he could not. He had to stay. He would only ever get one chance at this. He had to make absolutely certain that nothing of these clones survived.

With great effort, he slowly turned, looking out over the hundreds of faces, all his own, though at various stages of life. Some were older, genetically enhanced to speed up their growth so that they were physically in their twenties. Others were closer to his own age, ranging through their teens, and even younger. Some… Some were little older than toddlers, he could even see some babies. Fate was cruel, he decided, to force him to commit such an atrocity.

As it happens, fate turned out to be crueller than even he thought. Soon enough, the failsafe poison began to take effect, but it was far more sickening than he was expecting. The clones, adults and babies alike, they awoke. Every single pair of eyes opening in shock as they released the most blood curdling wails Damian had ever heard. His eyes widened, he thought he might be sick. His mother… She had designed the failsafe program, but she had never bothered to ensure that it would not be painful for the clones… This was torture. They were not dying swiftly and painlessly, no… They were screaming in pain, all looking at him, confused and primal. They had never been given the chance to experience anything, and now they would die, and all they would ever have known was excruciating pain.

Tears welled in the young assassin's eyes. He had done awful things in his time. He had killed elderly, defenceless citizens under his mother and grandfather's command. He had even murdered children without question, children who would have one day become powerful political leaders in various dictatorships and monarchies… But this… He knew what it was to die. He knew he had died, but now he was seeing it. He was literally watching himself die, a thousand painful deaths.

He fell to his knees, trying to block out his their screams by covering his ears, his own wails adding to the agonized chorus. Tears tracked down his cheeks as he knelt, watching as one by one the screams died out. The babies were the first to go, their little faces contorted in torment, their dead eyes open and staring at him. Eventually, all the screams but his own ceased. He stayed where he was, screaming in anger and pounding the floor with his fists, eyes squeezed shut. She would suffer… His mother would pay for this! He knew he would never be able to forget this moment, what he had just seen and heard… As if she had not already caused him enough nightmares… But now was no time to think of his own mental health. He had a mission to complete. He took a few deep, angry breaths and stood. He surveyed the pods, and returned to the control panel, ensuring that every single life sign had been terminated.

That done, he entered another command. A count down appeared on the screen, the self-destruct activated. He turned to face the bodies, a few more tears escaping his eyes "I-I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I can't say I did it for you. I did it for the good of the world… But at least you will never know the pain I feel… May you find the peace in death, that I never will in life. I'm so sorry…" he whispers his little prayer before striding from the room quickly, heading down the hall. It isn't long before the explosions are heard, shaking the very foundations of the lair. Perhaps it was overkill… No. He could not allow the league to keep even a shred of his DNA. It had to be done. As much as it would haunt him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, the explosions attract a great deal of attention, his own mother leading the charge. Why couldn't she have gone with his grandfather? This would not be easy… But he was partly glad she was here. He wanted to make her suffer. At the very sight of her, a rage the like of which he had never felt bubbled up inside him. He had faced so many villains in his time, but at that moment he was convinced that his mother was the most evil creature to ever taint this earth with their presence.

"DAMIAN!" he heard her voice roar, fury written all over her face "What have you done?!" Damian's face contorts, a mix between a snarl and a venomous smirk coming over his features "What have I done? I should be asking you _mother_." He spits the title, voice coloured with utter disgust to such an extent that even Talia is visibly shocked "I know the truth mother. I know who really killed me. And I know who is to blame." There is a flash of something in her eyes. Shock? Maybe… Guilt? It does not matter. Nothing can save her now. "I am returning to Gotham. To my father. Stand aside, or face the consequences. I am leaving one way or another." He growls his words, tone angry and eyes dangerous.

"You will do no such thing, my son. I let you slip away to his side once. You will never betray me in such a manner again. Guards! Apprehend my son, by _any_ means necessary." She scowls at him as she speaks, he elite guard appearing seemingly from nowhere. A nice trick, but Damian knew exactly where they were. He knew he was better than any of them.

The first of the six women rushes at Damian, firing a smoke pellet attempting to reduce his visibility, throw him off guard. A foolish mistake. The young assassin could fight twice this number of assassins blind. She launches herself at him, her movements quiet, but not quiet enough. Damian on the other hand, is absolutely silent as he ducks under the swing of her blade, one of his own piercing her stomach, severing her spinal cord as is pierces through her poorly defended midsection. As she looks at him, eyes wide, he brings his other blade across to slice through her neck, kicking her head out of the smoke cloud to land before the spot he knew his mother had been standing in. He heard her snort of disgust. Message received.

With no warning, the next assassin's blade pierced through the smoke, obviously intent on impaling the boy before he regained his composure following his previous kill. Another failure. He easily sidestepped the attempt, and with speed that the guardswoman simply could not match, his blade sang through the smoke to slice through her wrist. The woman wailed as her hand fell to the floor, clutching at her gushing stump before Damian had the mercy to end her pain, stabbing his second sword straight between her eyes, pulling back quickly and ducking to roll under a high kick from his next assailant.

As he rolled behind her, he heard yet another leaping into the fray, blade pointed at him. He saw an opportunity and he took it. He sidestepped her stab, grabbing her and propelling her at high speed straight into the previous woman, allowing her blade to impale her comrade before grabbing her head, and twisting her neck, both crumpling into a pile of dead bodies.

The final two attack together, believing that co-operation will bring him down. They work together well, obviously highly skilled assassins. One even manages to land a grazing slash to his arm, drawing some blood. That did not save them though. As a reward for making him bleed, that woman received a throwing knife to each eye, blinding her and leaving her howling in pain. He turned his attention to the other woman, expertly parrying her blade several times. The smoke cloud was finally dissipating. In truth it had not lasted long. He had simply made quick work of this elite guard.

The woman made one critical error. She took a step, one little bit too far for her to be properly balanced. Damian did not miss this. In a split second, he had moved his foot to knock hers slightly out of line, causing her to fall forward, face landing right onto his precisely placed blade. The point entered one of her eyes, and he let her head sink all the way to the hilt of the sharp weapon, knowing the smoke had cleared enough for his mother and all of the onlookers to see.

He pulls his blade out of the dead woman, allowing her to thud to the floor in a pool of blood before moving over to the screaming woman, knives still where her eyes once were. "-Tt- Pathetic" he scoffs, stomping down on her face, driving the knives deeper into her skull, piercing her brain and silencing her immediately.

He turns to sneer at his mother "This is the best your minions can do mother? Perhaps you should get your own hands dirty." He suggests, the challenge obvious in his voice, but he knew that she had one more line of defence that she would send his way.

"That will not be necessary, my son. I believe I have someone else that would be more than happy to repeat a previous performance. Such a shame… I wish you had not pushed my hand like this."

As predicted, he approached. The last clone. The one that had killed Damian all those years ago. The sight of the much larger man only increased Damian's rage. "Ah, my twin, it appears I have been given permission to best you once again in battle. My pleasure."

Damian growled at him, swinging his sword and adopting a ready stance. He did not reply, he simply waited for his rival to strike. This time, there would be a different outcome. He would not allow it to end any other way.

The clone launched straight in, sword swinging in a brash attempt to slice through Damian's neck in one blow. Damian dodges out of the way, leaping into the air and landing a powerful kick to the man's face, however as he grunts in pain he manages to catch Damian's other leg, tossing him roughly at the ground. His back slams into the ground hard, and he just manages to roll out of the way of the clone's sword as he stabs into the spot where his chest had been but seconds before.

He is on his feet again in seconds as he clone rushes at him with a flurry of strikes. The metal of their swords ring through the vast room as Damian expertly parries the blows. The clone should have been winning. He was bigger and obviously much stronger, but Talia's brow was furrowed in concern. Damian was not losing…

In fact, the next moment he dodged a blow and launched into an offensive flurry of his own. Every move was an embodiment of ferocity, each flick of his wrist, each twist of his body more lethal than the last. True, the clone was bigger and stronger, but Damian was exhibiting speed and skill that astounded even Talia, obviously catching his opponent off guard, landing several blows and drawing blood from the large man.

The clone roars in outrage. He dives at Damian, quickly parrying a stab at his heart and landing a solid punch to the unbalanced teen's jaw sending him stumbling to one knee. He aimed a kick at the hunkered down boy, but the blow met only air as Damian had already cartwheeled out of the way, twirling around behind the clone and quickly slashing one of his ankles. He was not fast enough to evade the strong backhand that collided with his cheek, causing him to reel backwards into a backflip, landing just in time to block another sweeping blow towards his head.

The clone recovered quickly, landing a stinging slice to Damian's shoulder, but failing to evade a sharp kick to the ribs. The crack echoed through the room. It soon became clear to the onlookers that Damian's plan was to weaken his target by hitting critical points for movement. He knew he was not as strong, but he was faster. He could use a succession of quick attacks to bring the larger man down.

As the clone lurched forwards, attempting to grab his younger counterpart, Damian leapt into the air, spinning gracefully to bring his other foot crashing into his enemy's nose, sending another crunch echoing around the room. The man let out a loud grunt of pain, and as he brought his non sword wielding hand up to his wounded nose, Damian took his opportunity, driving his blade through the man's defenceless shoulder, quickly pulling back and back flipping to a safe distance.

The battle rages for some time, each landing blows and twirling around one another in an intricate dance. Finally, the clone believes that he has spotted an opening. Intent on ending their struggle, sweaty and bloody he drives his blade towards his smaller opponent.

But he was wrong. Damian had planned it perfectly. In an impressive display of agility, the sixteen year old assassin leaps into the air, spinning horizontally and slicing the clone's wrist, disarming him. The second his feet touch the ground again, his sword pierces the older man's chest, impaling him, much like he had done to Damian all those years ago "How does it feel, you cheap imitation?" he growls in the clone's ear, twisting the blade in his chest as the man wheezed out a gasp of pain.

He pulled the sword out, leaving the man looking down at the gaping wound in his chest, watching the blood pour out, before Damian smirked wickedly. The clone was so distracted with his wound that he did not even notice as the victor set him ablaze, flames curling around him as he wailed in agony, burning alive. He fell to the floor, writhing in pain as Damian watched, making sure that his mother was also watching her executioner's demise.  
"Where is your precious killer now, mother?" he taunted, slicing his sword through the man a few times to end the screams, butchering him into smaller pieces, splattering himself with the man's blood in the process.

He stood and watched as the body burned, patiently waiting for it to burn to ash before kicking the dusty remains around, scattering him so that he could never be revived with one of those blasted pits.

"Where is my killer you ask, my son? He is trying to leave me once more…" Talia replies after the long pause, her voice sounding almost mournful. For the briefest of moments, she looked like a normal mother, who was once again loosing her child. That moment was short lived.

"You may leave this place, if, and only if, you can defeat me Damian. If you survive, you may have your freedom. If I win, you will not survive. This is a battle to the death, my son. Only one of us will leave this room. Understood?"

Damian, already bloody and battered, nodded in confirmation. He had expected nothing less from Talia. He twirled his katana in preparation, adopting a fluid stance as Talia approached easily falling into her own battle stance.

The two Al Ghul's circled one another for some time, each one eyeing up their opponent, searching for an opening. Talia's eyes flicker over her son, his clothing torn, several lacerations decorating his lean body. His nose and mouth bloody and bruised. Her perfect little assassin… She was about to lose him again. She had made so many mistakes. She had never wanted him to defect to his father's side. He was supposed to return to her… He was never supposed to die that day. He was not even supposed to be there.

But he had died. And in death, she saw an opportunity for a new beginning. A chance to erase past mistakes. A chance to get her son back. She had him brought back from the dead, and she told her stories. She knew they hurt him. She knew the anguish that her tales caused, but she truly believed it was the right thing to do. She had to keep him with her, away from Bruce Wayne and his manic crusade. He had sacrificed enough sons for his quest. He did not deserve a second chance with her boy, she did! He had never died under her care. No such harm had ever come to him. She had protected him, made him powerful. And then that wretched bat crazed man had taken him from her, taken him and allowed him to suffer so… She could not allow that to happen again. That man could never get his hands on her precious son again, no matter what she had to do to prevent it.

The woman launched forwards, quick as a serpent with a stab straight for her son's heart. He parried the blow, leaping to the side and striking back. Their blades clashed again and again. They became visible as a flurry of blades, glinting in the light. Each landed a succession of stinging blows, though the most serious were usually blocked. A slice to Damian's shoulder. a cut to Talia's thigh. Damian's shoulder pierces, Talia's side penetrated.

Their battle was equal parts graceful and terrifying. They moved so quickly, it was difficult for even the trained eyes of the assassins watching them to keep up. It was clear to all that these two were masters. Their skill was beyond what any in the room could even aspire towards.

Every time a blade was swung, it cast out a rain of red droplets. The battle raged for some what felt like hours for the two assassins, graceful, elegant and indescribably ferocious. Every strike, every single movement, a promise of death to the other combatant, until eventually, it was over.

A stunned silence fell over the room. There were no gasps, no cries, and absolutely no movements from any but the two Al Ghul's. wide eyes from every angle watched as Talia's blade, glinting in the light, sailed across the room and clattered to the marble floor. Her son wasted absolutely no time. As she looked in shock towards her blade, he caught her by the hair, pulling her face down to meet his rising knee with a savage scream. As she stumbled back, dazed, he leapt into the air and landed a hard kick to her stomach, spinning and bringing his other foot around to collide with her ribs with enough force to crack at least three. She continued to stumble back, trying to regain enough breath to launch an attack. Damian leapt towards her, landing on his hands and propelling himself feet first at her. His boots slam into her jaw, sending her reeling with a loud cry.

He stands over her, stomping down on her left wrist, putting an end to her attempt to pull a knife on him as the sound of bones breaking fill the room. Damian snarls down at her, his rage bubbling to unbelievable heights. He sheathes his blade for a moment, grabbing her by the collar and lifting her, bringing his other fist down to slam into the left side of her face again and again before striking her nose, breaking that too.

He places a foot on her chest and extends his leg sharply, smashing her back to the hard floor making sure her head slaps the marble painfully. His sword is in hand again, the point pressed to her neck, tasting the flesh as he draws the slightest hint of blood from her.

"Well my son, it appears you have defeated me, and the Heretic. Well done… Your mission was to defeat your father, to bring me his head. Though with all that you have accomplished today… I believe you have more than earned the title of Grand Master Assassin."

"Say it" he growls down at her, glaring at his 'mother' with utter contempt "SAY IT!" he roars. She knows exactly what he means. She looks up at him, her little Alexander… Her Damian. She was furious beyond all reason, though there was something else there… Pride. She was so proud of him. He had become even greater than she had ever imagined. And he had proved that today.

"Happy birthday Damian… You win."

He hears her words and they echo in his mind. "You win, You win" over and over again he hears them. He had won. He had defeated everything she had thrown at him today. He had earned his freedom. And she had earned her death. She had more than earned that. She deserved to die a thousand times over for what she had done to him, what she had done to the whole world over the years… And to his family. What she had done to the Wayne family… They all believed him dead. They thought he was dead and gone, never to return… She had made him a failure in their eye! How _dare_ she!

But as he looked at her, rage boiling within him, every part of him screaming for him to do it, to finish this woman and rid the world of her presence, kill her, burn the body and make it impossible for them to find even a single ash that remained of her… He couldn't.

He could not kill her… He wanted to, he wanted to kill her more than anything else in the world. He wanted to drive his blade into her heart and watch her die… But he couldn't. She was his mother… Despite everything, she was his mother… He could not kill her.

He could not kill her… And the rage that that thought burned him, it scalded him. His entire being was burning up as white hot rage coursed through his veins. He screamed, his cry savage and primal and drove his blade through his mother's chest, piercing right through her. It would not kill her… He avoided anything that would make it fatal, but he made sure she would not be getting up again anytime soon.

He looks down at his mother as her eyes flicker, face wrought with pain as she looks up at him, her eyes slowly slipping closed as she surrenders her consciousness. He casts his gaze to the mutilated bodies of her elite guard, to the still smoking ashes of the clone, and down towards the flaming remains of the incubation chambers. He thinks of all the clones, innocent and untainted that he had murdered…

"Yes… Happy birthday to me…"

He turns from her, surveying the room. Not a single one of the assassins moved, and he knew damn well why. They were terrified. He had just taken out two of their greatest warriors, and he was still standing. They knew now that they could not stop him. They had no choice but to honour his mother's agreement. They had to let him go.

He allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smirk. "You will want to move her. Immediately." That is all he says as he strides towards the exit, holding up a small device. A remote detonator. The assassin underlings rushed to Talia, trying to get her bleeding body out in time.

As soon as Damian reached the door, he flicked the switch. Hidden explosives began to go off all around the room. He had learned enough about contingency plans to know that risking something like he did today without a backup plan was foolish. Now, that backup plan came in handy even after his success. The explosions perfectly covered his escape, allowing him to ensure that he was not followed, and also made absolutely sure that the league would _never_ be able to find the ashes of his clone, or any other traces of his blood and DNA left in this arena.

"Happy birthday indeed…"


	3. The Robin Returns

The bats screeched and chattered overhead, the sound of their wings flapping echoing around the cave almost as loudly as their shrieking calls. He took a moment to look up at them all, their constant companions through all of these years. Through every triumph and every defeat, the bats were always constant. While their cave stood, they would go on to spread their wings each dark night.

A small smile, between proud and mournful tugged at his lips as he pulled himself from his musings. Batman and Nightwing were set to return any moment from their patrol, and Alfred liked to be on hand when they got home to offer assistance if needed.

His measured footsteps, though light, caused a distinctive echo as he descended the steps into the cave. Suddenly, he was given cause to pause. His eyes widened in surprise. Something was not right here. He was not alone. There was in fact a cloaked figure sitting cross legged on the floor, right in the middle of the Batcave. This was most unusual. The butler took a closer glance. This person's figure did not match the build of anyone who should have access to this cave. A worrying thought. The individual's face was shrouded in a hood, allowing them no view of the elderly man, but there was no doubt in his mind that the figure knew he was there. If this person was skilled enough to break into the Batcave without setting off a single alarm or security system, then it was unlikely he had a chance of catching them unawares now, what with his less than silent footsteps.

"Who are you?" he called to this stranger, his tone non-threatening, though in no way friendly. "-Tt- You will never retire, will you Pennyworth?" The clearly male figure called back. Alfred reeled in shock, almost losing his composure as his face fell into one of utter disbelief. That voice was unmistakable… But… It couldn't be… Alfred had seen the body with his own eyes…

The stranger reached up and pulled down their hood slowly, looking up at Alfred. He was splattered with blood and decorated with bruises, but there was no mistaking that face… Those blue eyes...

Alfred stumbled the last few paces over to him, crumpling to his knees before him and grabbing Damian in a tight hug, tears freely falling down his face as he held the boy they had lost close. "Six years… Six long years I have mourned for you, we all have!" he choked out, squeezing tighter as if to prove to himself that this was real. "I cannot tell you how good it feels to see you master Damian, but… How?" He pulls back to look at the boy's face, eyes flickering over every inch as if trying to imbed it in his memory forever more.

Damian had not returned the embrace. He had squeezed his eyes shut tight; attempting to hold back any emotion that might slip through, but he had not pushed Alfred away at all. "It is a very long story Pennyworth… One I do not believe I will get through more than once…"

Any further elaboration Damian had planned on the matter was cut short as the roar of the Batmobile is heard approaching. Damian's heart is practically in his mouth at the very sound. He had wanted this, to return to Gotham. He did. The prospect of meeting his father again after all this time however… He trained for six years to kill the man. The next time that he was seen by the Batman, He was supposed to be the last thing the Bat would ever see. He was nervous, to say the least. Would his father be pleased to see him? Suspicious? Angry? Afraid? Would he be welcome here anymore? Would his father ever possibly be able to take him back after so much more time with the League?

A thousand questions whirled through his mind as he heard the vehicle approach, and apparently this was obvious in the look that he gave Alfred. The old man, teary eyed and practically shaking, gave him a reassuring smile and a gentle squeeze to his shoulder, motioning for them both to stand. Once standing, Alfred pulls Damian into another firm hug, whispering a quiet "We've all missed you Damian. We have all missed you so very much" into his ear.

As Batman and Nightwing emerge from the Batmobile, they instantly notice Alfred hugging this strange cloaked figure, casting a glance to one another, instantly suspicious. The aging butler glances at them, over the smaller male's shoulder giving them a view of his teary, beaming face, his serene expression clearly showing that there was no danger.

After a moment, the boy slowly pulls back from the embrace. He looks up at Alfred once more, earning an encouraging nod from the grey haired man, before taking a deep breath. Slowly, very slowly, he turns around. Four eyes widen behind masks, two jaws drop wide open and two matching gasps of surprise fill the cave, as both men instantly recognise the face of Damian Wayne.

"-Tt-… Greetings Grayson… Father…" Damian addresses them, stiff and formal, standing at attention. He remained entirely motionless, his face completely devoid of emotion. On the inside however, he was a quivering mess. He was nervous beyond belief and every fraction of a second they stood there staring at him, just gaping as if they were seeing a ghost, an utterly impossible sight, it felt like an eternity to the youngest Wayne, trapped there in that moment of utterly petrifying uncertainty.

Dick's eyes roam up and down the short boy, his bruised face and hair matted blood, his prim and proper stance, his defiant yet princely air… No… It couldn't be, not after all this time, no… But when he looked into those big, frightened blue eyes… He just knew.

He pounced, pulling the boy into a bone crushing hug, already sobbing uncontrollably. The assassin had moved quickly, knife already in hand and ready to strike his assailant, however at the sobbing he paused. There was no violent intent here, no attempt to harm him. Dick was hugging him and crying… And with that realising, the blade clattered to the ground.

He remained perfectly still, standing stiffly in the hug for the longest time. He made a valiant effort to remain composed, though it proved to be in vain as he broke down slightly, arms winding carefully around Dick as a few silent tears slip from his wide, stormy eyes.

"Little D… Dami… Baby Bat… Oh god I missed you! I missed you so damn much, I… I… How?" The acrobat babbled, squeezing the small teen tightly, never wanting to let go again for even a moment, lest he lose the boy once more.

Bruce, having stood back in shock, had observed everything, taking the whole scene in. Eventually he approaches cautiously. He wanted to believe it was really him; he wanted nothing in the world more than for this to be the Damian he had known and loved, but he had to be careful. He had to be suspicious of this sudden appearance.

"How do we know? How do we know that you are my son, and not a clone? A trick of the League's?" he asks, looking down at the boy sternly as Dick reluctantly steps aside to allow them to speak, hand still rested on Damian's back however, not willing to relinquish all contact.

"Father, you will never have to worry about clones again." He speaks, returning his father's even stare with seemingly unwavering confidence. "Bruce, it's him! I know it is, I know that this is Damian" Dick smiles at his mentor, totally confident in his words.

"No Dick, you _want_ it to be Damian." Bruce did too, so badly. But he couldn't just believe it right off the bat. He needed more. He had to have proof. He could not risk his family by not investigating what could easily be a trap sent by the League. He knew they had his son's DNA, and there was no doubt that they had the resources to make copies.

If it was proof his father wanted, it was proof he would get. Damian was speaking again before he could even pause to gather his thoughts. He had to prove that it was him; they just had to believe him!

"Once when I was ten I got sick, and Grayson refused to leave me alone to recover. He took me from my bed, he bundled me up in his arms even though I protested vehemently, and carried me to his bed, where he proceeded to force me to endure hours upon hours of Disney drivel, and force fed me hot chocolate…"

Once he had finished blurting out that memory, the first thing that came to his mind in the way of proof, Damian clamped his mouth shut again, looking up at his father and waiting for a verdict, a few tears still prickling at his eyes. He had to believe him, he just had to… "Ohana means family… And family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten" He quotes one of the films, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks down at the ground, desperate to solidify his proof that it really was him.

As soon as he heard Damian recite that line, Dick was once again reduced to tears, tugging the boy into another hug that could have done damage to a frailer person. "It's him Bruce, it is. I- I remember that… Dami wouldn't admit it, but he loved Stitch… Kinda relatable, I guess" he sniffled a little, a noise between a laugh and a sob accompanying it, "Now if you do not get into this hug this damn second we are going to have a problem!"

Bruce decided that that was all the proof that he needed. At least _for now_. He wrapped his arms around both of his boys, keeping Damian snug between them, his long cape shrouding them too. He wished that they could simply stay that way forever, so that nothing could ever harm his boy again.

But he knew that tonight would not be so simple. Yes, there would be hugs and tears of joy, but Damian had been gone for six years. There were stories that needed to be told, and something told him that nobody was quite prepared to hear them…

But he pushed that aside for a time, simply living in the moment. His son was home. His Baby Bat, as the rest of his brood had taken to calling him affectionately. He was home, and he was safe, nestled between his father and his eldest brother. They had failed to keep him safe all those years ago, but he vowed to himself there and then that they would never fail in that manner again. Never again.


	4. Family Reunions

Damian remained exactly where he was, held tightly by his father and his big brother. Normally, hugs were not something that he was entirely fond of, but this was different. He couldn't help the silent tears that streamed down his face as he held them both tightly. He had come all this way, and every step of the journey he had been terrified of this moment. Every single time he thought about it, he could picture every way that it could have gone wrong… Every way they could have rejected him. Even though he knew she had been lying, he couldn't fully shake his mother's words from his head. Were they happier without him? Would he be welcomed back at all? Did… Did they ever really love him?

But in that moment, held between two of the most important people in his life, those fears disappeared, at least for a time. Here he was, back after six years, and they had gathered him in their arms right away. They were literally weeping with joy at the sight of him. It felt like a dream to the young assassin. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that they were so happy to see him. Maybe they really did care about him…

As the two older vigilantes cradled their young Robin between them, keeping him held tightly in the joyful embrace, Alfred slipped away silently. The aging butler was overjoyed. He couldn't believe what was happening. He had prayed for this for so long, they all had, and now that it was finally here he was not quite sure how to react appropriately.

He exited the cave, heading straight for the phone to make the relevant calls. Bruce and Dick would not be the only people who would want to see this. He couldn't tell any of the others exactly what was going on over the phone. No, it felt wrong. This news should come in person. This should be a moment that they all shared as a family, or as many of them as he could gather on short notice. Instead, he simply left messages telling them to come to the cave as soon as possible, that a vitally important situation had come up unexpectedly.

They deserved this. They deserved a moment of unity, of happiness. They had all mourned so deeply after the incident, though never together. It was so painful, to look at one another and know that they had all failed to save him. That none of them had been there to help him. It wasn't their fault, he knew it wasn't, but that didn't stop most of them from blaming themselves in one way or another, and it pained the old man to see them all so tortured. In truth… He still blamed himself. If only he had done more to prevent Damian from leaving the cave that night…

By the time he arrives back at the cave, the three occupants had hardly moved. From where he stood he could hear Dick's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but could hear him chattering in between sniffles. He locked eyes with Bruce for a moment, his cowl removed to show his face, teary eyed and smiling. He had not seen Bruce this happy in some time. His family was finally whole again, and though the most senior Wayne tried to remain cautious, there was no hiding from Alfred how overjoyed he really was.

It is not long before the entrance to the cave opens as Stephanie and Tim enter. The two had arrived at roughly the same time, dressed in civilian clothes, as Alfred's message dictated. They chatted together as they entered, wondering what had been so urgent that they were required at the cave instantly, but they were not required to suit up. As they descended into the main area of the cave, the reason became apparent without them even having to voice the question to the others.

At first, all they could see was Dick and Bruce huddled around something, probably a person, but too small to be seen properly. Then, as Dick saw them and moved to the side to reveal who it was, both newcomers gasped in audible shock. Dick almost laughed at their expressions, but he was certain that a quick glance at the cave's security footage would prove that his own had been as bad, if not worse, when he first spotted the boy.

Stephanie's eyes were wider than he had ever seen them, and a little part of him was sure her jaw was going to crack and lock in place at how wide it had fallen open. She stared blankly for the longest time, before snapping her gaze towards Dick and Bruce, looking between the two of them, desperate for some form of confirmation or clarification. Eventually, Dick decided to put an end to her confusion. "Not even a "welcome home" for Little D, Steph?" he snickered. That was all she needed. In the next second, she let out an ear piercing scream that left Damian flinching in shock. He had spent the entire time since Dick and Bruce had released him trying to look poised and collected, trying to hide any nerves he felt at seeing the others again. He found himself completely distracted from any such efforts as a still screeching Stephanie threw herself at him, gathering him in a bone crushing hug, apparently sobbing into his shoulder as she rocked him in the embrace.

"Brown! Release me at once!" he cried, trying to regain his composure and push her off, but she was having absolutely none of it. He was alive! He was alive and still an asshole probably but he was alive! And there was no way she was letting go until she had finished that hug, even at all his protests and obviously half hearted attempts to remove her. She was fairly sure she could hear Dick chuckling at his little brother's complaints, and she even thought she saw a fond smirk on Bruce's usually stoic face. That was something they hadn't seen too much of in the last few years. She had missed this so much.

During that entire exchange, Tim had remained frozen in place, staring wide eyed at the sight. Damian. Damian Wayne… Damian Al Ghul Wayne was in the Batcave… His little brother was standing right there in front of him, after all this time. It couldn't be… No… He just couldn't believe it… His baby brother… "Are we positive it's… _Him_?" he asks, blinking, still frozen in disbelief as he voices is concern. "Yeah Tim. Even Bruce is convinced" Dick replied, still beaming so brightly Tim feared permanent damage may be done to his eyesight.

Tim remained rooted to the spot, still trying to process this, even as Barbara entered the cave, rushing by to catch the long lost Wayne in another hug, followed by even more protests. Still, Tim couldn't move. He didn't know what to even think of all of this. There were so many questions…

As more and more gazes seemed to be turning towards him by the gathered family members, Tim slowly began edging towards Damian, who was still distracted trying to get Stephanie off of him. She releases the boy finally when she sees Tim place a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to face his older brother trying to look as stoic and collected as he could, obviously not sure what to expect. Tim's eyes flicker over his face, trying to find words while also trying to memorize this moment. "Welcome home Damian…" he says quietly, a smile breaking out on his face as tears form in the corners of his eyes.

Damian stares at him, large blue eyes wide and still slightly watery, though he tried to hide it, surprised that he was happy to see him at all. Last he was aware they were not exactly on the very best of terms… He had almost expected Tim to be glad he was dead… Then again, he had seen him mourn a few times when he spied on him, and that had surprised him too… He was pulled from his musings when he heard Tim speak again. "Oh fuck it" the older boy muttered, suddenly pulling Damian into a tight hug. Was it possible for a dangerous, psychotic assassin brat to look adorable? Apparently it was, and he hated it.

The boy clearly wasn't at all prepared for that, and froze completely in the hug, unsure how to react. That being said, Tim was under no illusions that he probably had a knife tucked up his sleeve, if not already in hand. He noted a few things about his little brother as he allowed the embrace to continue. While Damian had grown, he was still quite clearly shorter than Tim. That being said, he had obviously developed physically. He was definitely not the little ten year old that had been taken from them.

"Anyone wanna tell me what was so important I had to rush all the wa-" Jason Todd's sentence was cut short, his entrance halted, as his eyes fell on just who Tim had released from an embrace, his jaw hung open and his eyes were wide. Damian's reaction was not much different. His eyes widened seeing Todd of all people able to just walk into the cave whenever he pleased. A quick glance around at the others however proved that this was not uncommon however, so he relaxed from the defensive stance that he had adopted, but still eyed the Red Hood suspiciously.

He had actually managed to become closer to the family again after Damian's death… It was funny, in a way. Sometimes people had to lose something precious to realise how much others meant to them. Then, they're finally ready to make amends, and actually try to have a relationship with one another again. Sure, it wasn't perfect, and there were still a lot of conflicts… But it was progress.

Jason couldn't take his eyes off of Damian for some time, simply looking him up and down in something akin to disbelief. When he had first heard that the boy didn't make it, he did not mourn the same way the others did. Sure, he felt something… But at the same time, he knew what the boy's family were capable of. He was sure that Damian would be back, whether he wanted to come back or not, he would be back. But then time went on, days became weeks, weeks became months and all of a sudden it was several years later… And nothing. No sign of Damian had ever turned up. No hint that he was alive, no message, nothing. So his belief had wavered. Maybe Talia hadn't brought him back? Maybe they didn't want him back… And so then he had mourned for his little brother, when he finally accepted that no matter who you are, sometimes death just might be final…

But now, the day he had been waiting so long for was here, and he still wasn't ready for it. Seeing the boy, he knew damn well what must have happened to him… Well, at least some of it. The important bit. The bit he could never forget himself, no matter how much he tried to. "Fuck…" he swore, attempting to pass it off as an expression of shock, though it didn't fool everybody. The others were still so captivated by Damian's presence that they were hardly paying attention to the subtle oddities of Jason's response, but not Bruce. No, he had been watching very closely indeed. His son was alive again. Given who his mother was, there was one glaringly obvious answer as to how, and Jason Todd was the only one there who had first hand experience of that certain method of reanimation. Bruce wanted to see exactly how he responded to this. His second son's reaction proved to be every bit as telling as he knew it would.

The swear, though adequately disguised as shock, held obvious undertones of other emotions, if the right person were listening to hear them. The world's greatest detective happened to pick up on a hint of… Disappointment? Sadness? Or… Pity? He wasn't quite sure that he could pin it down absolutely from one utterance alone. He would have to pay closer attention. Perhaps Jason would even be willing to speak about it later?

Jason cleared his throat, smirking as he approached the boy, attempting to remain cool. "Took you long enough to find your way home, brat" he teased, ruffling the small assassin's hair before catching everyone in the room by surprise, pulling Damian into a hug so tight that he lifted the shorter teen right off the ground. Damian let out a yelp and began struggling somewhat weakly in protest before Jason whispered into his ear, so quietly that nobody else would have a chance at hearing it, "We'll talk later, Babybat. It's good to see you. Really."

As Jason was about to put the stunned little Arab down again, the family finally took proper notice of the boy's injuries as blood started to seep from his back, the hug having been tight enough to agitate a wound there. "Dami!" Dick gasped, shocked that they had all become so focused on his presence that they totally ignored the fact that he was hurt "You're injured! Jay, quick, bring him over to the med table for Alfie to take a look at him" he commanded, swiftly flying into his 'protective big brother' mode.

"Ah, looks like you're not getting down just yet kid" Jason snickered, shifting to carry Damian bridle style over as instructed, eliciting more furious protests from Damian as they walk, and a chorus of laughter from the rest of the family.

Jason sets the huffing teen down carefully enough to sit on the table as Alfred begins his examination, removing Damian's League shirt to reveal a litany of lacerations and bruises, some awkwardly bandaged, others left untreated. As Alfred tsk-ed over Damian's poor treatment of himself, the others crowded around. They all took note of the injuries, but also noticed the lack of scars from both his spinal replacement and his death, both of which one would assume to leave rather prominent scarring. That seemed to confirm the unspoken theory of a Lazarus Pit resurrection, just what Jason had been afraid of. That being said, he appeared to have gained quite a number of newer, yet smaller scars, proving that Damian had indeed been busy since his death.

The family all remain surrounding Damian as Alfred tries to work at re-stitching and re-bandaging the boy's many cuts and bruises, chattering happily, overjoyed to have their youngest back amongst them. Their reunion is interrupted, however, by a loud bark from across the main area of the cave. They all stop talking as Damian's head perks up instantly attempting to peek over them eagerly "Titus?!" he calls out, absolutely failing to mask the excitement and joy of being reunited with his beloved dog. Tim and Stephanie manage to move out of the way just in time as the enormous hound comes barrelling towards his owner. There wasn't a force in the universe that could halt his charge towards the boy he had waited for for so long, leaping right up onto the table as he tackled him, licking his face all over, not caring if the boy chastised him for slobbering on him.

Damian hadn't even dreamed of it, arms wrapping around his dog and returning every bit of affection with equal enthusiasm. The family watched as the boy and dog embraced one another, clinging on for dear life, as Damian buried his face in Titus' fur, nobody even said a word as they spotted a few tears rolling down tanned cheeks, only to be lost in dark fur or licked away as quickly as they could fall.

They had all waited so long, and now he was home.


	5. Revelations of a Lost Robin

It was some time later before Alfred was able to pry Damian and Titus apart to actually finish his work bandaging the young boy. The process was further slowed down by the others refusing to move more than a foot away from him, practically poking and prodding at the young Arab as Alfred tried to work, constantly distracting the boy with questions and jokes, much too excited and hyperactive to be controlled by either Alfred or Bruce at this point.

Eventually however, the butler managed to complete his task, deeming Damian suitably treated for the time being. Now, the family gathered in the kitchen as Alfred served tea for everyone and some food for Damian. The boy appeared ravenously hungry, making it clear that his journey had been long in addition to being perilous. They decided to chat amongst themselves for as long as they could manage, allowing Damian time to eat, but eventually none of them could hold back their curiosity any longer.

Bruce was the first to speak up from his seat beside Damian, who had been ushered into the seat at the head of the table the moment he had gotten to the kitchen by Dick, who occupied the seat to his other side instantly. "Son, we're all delighted to have you back… But we need to know what happened." The other's agreement could almost be felt in their intense, expectant stares directed at Damian. "Fine." He nodded, knowing that this would have to be done sooner or later "But there are to be no interruptions, understood?" he knew getting through this story would be difficult. He wasn't certain he would be able to if he was disrupted too many times.

He takes a deep breath before he begins, looking down into his tea rather than at any of the curious faces around him. "After the incident of my… Of my death… It was not long before my mother revived me. She was concerned that too long a period may have passed, but the process was successful. When I was able to hear again, and actually understand what she was saying, she told me what had happened. Or… At least what she wanted me to believe had happened. In her telling of the story, I had screwed up a mission. Father called me a failure. You were… You were furious, beyond belief. She said that you attacked me, and that all the rest of you joined in. You called me a disgrace to the family, and to the legacy of Robin… That you all laughed as I failed to defend myself against all of you…And that… That you were the ones that killed me. That it was father who drove the sword through me, and that you all walked away without a second glance."

He spat it all out as quickly as he could, his hands gripping the arms of his chair firmly, trying desperately to keep his voice even. It did not go unnoticed by Jason that the boy had totally skipped over the events of his actual resurrection… And he understood why too, and that he certainly should not push that issue right now. There would be time for that later.

The family were glad that he didn't look up at them. Beside him, Dick had slow tears running down his appalled face. Bruce's jaw was clenched so tight it looked as though he may do permanent damage, but even he couldn't keep the look of horror off his face. The others were all in similar states of shock. They had all known that Talia was probably one of the worst mother's around, but for even her to stoop that low? To take away some of the only people Damian had ever genuinely cared for? The only real family he ever had… It was unthinkable.

"I… I know now that it was a lie. But… But at the time I was not thinking clearly after the revival. I couldn't think clearly. I just… I believed it. And I was so angry… So I stayed with her, and for the past six years I have trained every day to kill you all." He admits frankly, feeling the tension in the room rise, even without having to look up. "Mother and grandfather deemed me ready. They claimed it was the fastest improvement they had ever seen in a pupil… They decided that on my sixteenth birthday, I would be tasked with bringing home father's head…"

Damian carried on his tale, not stopping for any longer than he had to in order to breathe. If he stopped, he wasn't sure he would be able to start again. He told them of how he had spied on them all, how he had seen them grieving. He told them that that was what triggered his memories of the actual events of his death to resurface, of how the memories he had blocked out for so long slowly came back to him. He realised that she had lied, and that he had to come home.

From there he went on to admit to what he had done in the incubation chambers in the League lair. He tried to hide all emotion from his voice as he recalled that horrible incident, the screams of hundreds of himself, dying a slow and agonizing death, all staring straight at him as they perished… He described it in such detail; the entire room was in shock. Dick paled so much he actually had to excuse himself for a moment to throw up, shaken to his very core by the image of his baby brother dying a hundred times over… It was too much to handle.

When he returns, shaken and pale, Damian continues. He explains how his mother had heard the explosions, and came running. "She ordered her elite guard to apprehend me, by any means necessary… So I killed them." He admits, knowing that his father was already highly disturbed by what he had admitted so far, but also knowing that he had to be honest here. He could not risk lying to them… If they ever found out from someone else… It did not bear thinking about.

"A-All of them?" Stephanie asks, unable to hold her silence any longer. "Every last one." He nods, still not looking up at them. "And then you escaped, right?" Tim interrupts, hoping that that was the end of this story, and that there was nothing more. The tension in the room right now was enough to set anyone on edge. "Not quite… My mother was not done with me yet. She sent the clone that had killed me when I was ten after me… And he fell like all the others before him. She… She challenged me to a duel… A fight to the death. If I won, I would be permitted to leave…"

At that, Bruce shut his eyes, knuckles turning white as he gripped the arms of his chair with even more force. The tension between Bruce and his son was palpable. He sat and listened to his boy's story, hearing how he had broken his one sacred rule again and again, and given the number of years he had been away with his mother; it did not take a detective to know that there had probably been _countless_ other incidents. "Did you…?" He didn't finish the question. They all knew what he was asking. "No… I didn't. I won. I defeated her, and I had the chance to… B-But I couldn't follow through with it, no matter how much I wanted to… I stabbed her, but I left her alive…" he almost sounds ashamed as he finishes talking, sitting there silently, obviously having come to the end of his tale.

The entire family were in shock. Nobody knew what to say after hearing all of that, leaving an uncomfortable, tense silence to descend over them as everyone stared down at their own cups, trying to come to terms with what they had heard.

"I am tired… May I… Retire to one of the guest rooms?" Damian asks his father, still not actually looking over at him. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment he knew would be written all over his face. The boy was obviously exhausted, all traces of energy or adrenaline abandoning him after completing his story. He looked as though he would drop off to sleep where he sat if he didn't get to bed soon. Dick chuckled a little, despite all that he had heard, at the suggestion of a guest room. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Dami. Come on. Follow me." He stood, placing a hand on his little brother's back and leading him up to his old room, opening the door to reveal that it was exactly as he had left it, all those years ago. "No matter how much time passed, Titus there never let us clear it out." Despite how painful it was for the rest of the family to see the room, Titus refused to give up. He waited for Damian to return every single day.

The small smile that graces Damian's tired face does not go unnoticed by Dick, or the way the boy ruffles the fur on the hound's head affectionately as he gazes around his room, eyes tearing again ever so slightly. He decides this would be a good time to slip out to fetch him something to sleep in. Sure, Tim was obviously closer to Damian's size… But Dick couldn't resist grabbing the boy one of his own shirts. The thought of how adorable he would look in such an oversized shirt was too good to pass up on. Who knew, this might be the only chance he would get to dress Dami up like this! That thought made the eldest brother snicker as he returns, handing the item of clothing over to his little brother, who seemed to be either too dazed or too exhausted to take all that much notice of what he had been given just yet.

As Dick stepped outside to give him a moment to change, Damian took a quick walk around his room, looking over all his old stuff. All the sketch books, his old violin, his easel, everything was right where they had always been, just like Dick said. He couldn't believe that they had kept all of this, after all this time… He allowed himself a brief moment to take it all in before quickly changing. He had just pulled the old t-shirt on and realised how large and baggy it was, giving a disgruntled frown, when Dick burst back into the room, rushing right over and catching Damian in another bone crushing, teary hug, totally incapable of staying away for any longer. "Welcome home Little D" he whispers into his tanned ear, cuddling him tightly and carefully lowering them both down onto the bed.

Damian let out a surprised little yelp at the sudden hug, but allowed himself to be cuddled and pulled to the bed. It was then that he noticed that Dick had changed into his own sleeping attire, a vest and some pyjama pants. It was clear his brother had no intention of leaving him tonight. Before he could even voice a half-hearted, tired protest, his bedroom door opens again. Stephanie sticks her head inside, smiling as she sees the two, dragging Tim in after her. "We just came to say goodnight." She says, beaming at the boys as Tim stands beside her, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck "Yeah… Good night you two."

But Dick was having none of that "Get in here Timmy, Stephie!" he encourages, pulling the blankets down a little and waving the two over with a snicker. "Grayson! I am not sharing my bed with Drake and Brown! They have their own sleeping quarters to retire to. As do you for that matter, so-" But he is cut off as Stephanie catches him in another hug, slipping into the bed and cutting off any further arguments "I missed that bratty mouth of yours, kid" she giggles, squeezing him a little as Dick laughed at Damian's yelped "Ack!" noise. Even Tim joined in the laughs, slipping into the bed with them on the other side of Steph.

Damian tries to protest more, but the warmth of the cuddling from all sides was dragging him closer and closer to sleep every moment. When Titus jumped up onto the bed, cuddling up at their feet, adding more warmth, which was the end of it. He tried to fight it, but he simply couldn't, and Damian drifted off to sleep, cuddled tightly into Dick's chest, Stephanie snuggling against his back and Tim huddling in against the blonde's back.

As they all slept soundly, huddled together in Damian's bed, Bruce stood silently by the door, a gentle smile on his face seeing his kids nestled securely together. Though as happy as he was to see this, it did not take away his concern over some of the things that Damian had admitted to earlier in the night… So much of what his son had learned from him, so much of the progress he had made seemed lost. He had killed so many in the last six years. Bruce wanted to trust him again, he truly did, but it had taken so much for Damian to leave that behind him once… Could he possibly do it again? And would Damian ever really trust _them_ again? His trust had not been easy to earn when he was young, when he had never believed that they had murdered him in cold blood. Sure, he knew the truth now, but Bruce of all people knew how Talia could get inside a person's head… He would have to keep a very close eye on the boy. For his own good, and for the good of the whole family.

Soon enough, he hears someone approach. The distinctive voice proving that it was Jason. "You know what this means, right? Tonight is all tears and hugs, but this is gonna be rough, and we both know it." He says quietly, peering into the room, looking utterly sombre. "It's been six years since he was… Perhaps he is over the worst of it…" Bruce tries to reason, though he was more trying to convince himself than anything, a desperate hope…

"How many years has it taken me, Bruce? And I'm still not… Not what I was… Listen, Damian's always been dangerous. We both know that. But now, Bruce, those pits… They do something to your head. Just… Just don't expect that young man in there to be the kid you buried… Cause he's not. Not entirely…"

With that, Jason turns and walks down the dark hallway, leaving Bruce with his thoughts while watching his children sleep, his lost son nestled safely amongst them.


	6. An Armful of Tears and Ginger

As the sun began to slowly peak in through the curtains, Damian awoke. Without even having opened his eyes, he was aware of his predicament. He appeared to be caught in a tangle of limbs. He was immediately concerned, touching one of the knives he had slipped into the waistband of his pyjamas, listening carefully. It took him a moment to register where he was, and that this was not some form of assassination attempt., realising that it was in fact Grayson's chest that he found himself pressed against. Wonderful… Just wonderful. He was comfortable enough, Damian supposed, but that was not something he wanted to think about. He did not want this becoming a recurring event.

Based on the amount of light he could see creeping its way into his room, it was still early. All of the others were still sound asleep, Grayson on his back, arms holding Damian securely to his chest. Steph, as she had been last night, cuddled into the young Arab's back, and Tim into hers.

Though it was early, Damian did not linger. Carefully, moving with all the stealth and grace of a practised assassin, he pried himself free of the limbs clutching at him, slowly slipping from the large bed, dressing quickly. None of his old clothes would fit him anymore, so he was forced to wear the only spare assassin uniform he brought with him. He had business to attend to. He could not do that in his boxers and Grayson's huge tshirt… Even if it was comfortable.

Assassin garb donned, he sneaks down to the cave, slipping inside easily. He grabbed a spare domino, his swords, and a grapple gun, ready to depart.  
"Master Damian, might I ask why you are in such a hurry to depart? The sun has hardly risen, and you are surely tired after your journey."  
Damn… Damian had been hoping to get away without being spotted… He forgot to account for the Butler's tendency to be an early riser.

Alfred was, in all honesty, slightly suspicious. What could the boy be up to, dressed in assassin gear and heading out into the city… A small part of his mind, though he did not want it to, suspected an Al Ghul plot was afoot. But would Damian be so careless as to be caught so easily, were that the case?

The teen sighed. He had hoped not to have to discuss this with anyone. "There is… Someone I must meet with. Someone important." He admits vaguely, somewhat reluctant to reveal any real information.

"And whom might that be, young sir?" the butler questions, reluctant to let him leave under such suspicious conditions so soon after returning. His own concerns aside, he was positive Bruce would not want his youngest son running about Gotham alone just yet, never mind dressed as he was in assassin gear and obviously intending on swinging about the rooftops in the early morning.

Damian sighed deeply, cursing the old man in Arabic under his breath. He knew there was no way to slip out now without arousing far more suspicion than his little excursion actually warranted. Though it annoyed him to have to answer the servant's questions, he supposed it was better to just have the matter dealt with, so that he could go without the old man sending his father hunting after him. "Do you remember… Colin Wilkes?" he asks quietly, not looking over at Alfred, as if embarrassed to admit that he had gotten up early and was sneaking out of the house to go see his friend, whom he had not seen in some years. He wasn't all that thrilled to let anyone know that he simply couldn't wait any longer to go see the other boy.

A warm smile spread across Alfred's wrinkled face at the mention of the young boy from the orphanage. Of course he remembered Damian's first friend from outside the family. He had met the boy often enough on his visits to the manor when the two were boys to have a very decent memory of the lad.

If there had been any worry left in the mind of the aging butler that this was not the Damian they had known in the past, it was certainly gone now. He may not have made many friends when he was a boy, but they all knew very well that the ones he did make, he cared for fiercely. Granted, Damian may not have admitted that aloud, but it was obvious to all.

"I trust that you are aware that young master Wilkes no longer resides at the orphanage, yes?" he asks, knowing very well that Damian probably knew very well of his friends current whereabouts.

"Of course I am Pennyworth." He replies curtly. How could he not? He had been in Gotham often enough to spy on his family in the last few years, how could he possibly have avoided the temptation to check up on Colin too? At first he had tried to stay away, to not look for him. He hadn't seen him in so long, and in truth, he missed his friend terribly. He wasn't sure he would be able to see the other boy and keep his distance, remaining unseen.

However, though he had tried, he was simply not able to leave Gotham without going in search of Colin. He had to know the boy was alright, and so it became routine that whenever he spied on his family, he would take some time to go and find Colin, just to check up on him.

At first, he had of course gone to the orphanage, expecting to see the boy there with the others, but was surprised to find absolutely no trace of him. It did not take much investigating to learn that he had in fact run away some years before Damian began his spying expeditions. Naturally, Damian was worried. He spent nights roaming the city, making sure to avoid Batman's common patrol routes, and those of the rest of the family. Instead, he stuck to the lower areas, the grimy spots that he recalled as Abuse's chosen stomping ground.

When there was no sign of the Titan enhanced vigilante to be found, Damian's heart sank. Where the hell was he? Had he left the city? Or… Or had something happened to Colin, while Damian wasn't around to help his friend…? That thought terrified him, more than he would ever admit. The thought that something may have happened to Colin, and that he wasn't there to save him, stung far more than he had expected.

It was then, just as he was about to give up his search, assuming the worst and with a heavy heart, that he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Something that moved quickly, up above him. His instant assumption had been that it was a member of his former family. He quickly ducked for cover, watching the moving figure from the shadows. It soon dawned on him that it wasn't dressed like any of them, and was too small to be any of them either.

It only took him a moment of examining the individual to realise exactly who it was. He put a hold on his confusion for a moment and heaved a sigh, feeling like the weight of the very world had been lifted from his shoulders. He would recognise that boy anywhere. There sat Colin Wilkes, up on a vantage point that the ten year old he remembered wouldn't have had a hope of climbing to. Stranger still was what he was wearing. It looked to be some form of… For want of a better word… A catsuit… Complete with little ears on the headpiece.

When the boy hopped up, with surprising agility, and darted off, the young Al Ghul simply couldn't resist the urge to follow him. He simply _had _to find out what was going on. Remaining undetected was relatively easy as he stalked his old friend, following him until he slipped inside the window of an apartment. It took basically no time at all for Damian to figure out that that apartment was owned by none other than Selina Kyle, Gotham's famous Catwoman, and all the pieces began falling into place. It seemed Kyle was the one responsible for Colin's odd choice of attire, and the obvious increase in agility and grace in his movements.

Over his visits to Gotham, he deduced that Colin must actually be living with Selina, given that every time Damian checked in on him he was either at her place, coming from there or heading back there. How that odd little partnership sprung up was an absolute mystery to him. He couldn't fathom why Wilkes would want to reside with that woman. Though it was clear that she had managed to teach him a great deal in his time with her. Agility, grace, combat, stealth… All areas in which Colin surprised him during his spying. Damian may not have been the Catwoman's number one fan, but he could see she had been of some benefit to Colin… So he supposed he could respect that much about her.

The young assassin was abruptly jolted from his reminiscing by Alfred's hand gently squeezing his shoulder.  
"Master Damian? You appear somewhat… Hesitant? Is something on your mind?" he asks good naturedly, somewhat concerned given that Damian had drifted off into his own thoughts for some time, looking rather conflicted the entire time. His concern only grew when the boy looked up at him, his expression showing a moment of what looked like self-doubt. In the time Alfred had known Damian, it had been incredibly rare to see the boy looking vulnerable as he did now.

"What if Colin does not wish to see me Pennyworth?" he mumbles quietly, sounding uncomfortable to have disclosed his thoughts at all, "He has never taken being abandoned well… And I… I abandoned him for so long…"

As Damian trailed off, Alfred felt his heart break just a little in his chest to hear him speak of what had been done to him like that, as though it were his own fault.  
"You have not abandoned _anyone_, master Damian. Never forget that. And if I were to hazard a guess, I believe what young master Wilkes wishes for, more than anything else, would be to see you again."

Damian looked up at Alfred again, scanning his expression for any trace of lies or mockery, but found none. There was something about the way the older man spoke, so knowingly and in such a very "Alfred" manner, that it went a ways to settling almost any fear. He wouldn't admit it, but in that moment he was glad to have someone as comforting as Alfred around.

"Come, young sir. I will drive you to meet master Wilkes." Alfred smiles again, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze before he turns from him, writing a quick note to Bruce to explain the situation. "But first we should find you something more fitting to wear for your visit, rather than those assassin clo-"

Alfred never got to finish that sentence, given that as he turned back to face the boy, he quickly realised that he was alone in the cave, Damian having disappeared without a trace during the brief moment that he had turned his back, not even making a sound.

"Certainly his father's son." The old butler chuckled, shaking his head.

Damian lands on the balcony of Selina Kyle's apartment without making a sound. His scouting had revealed that the living room was entirely empty, but he was certain that his target was inside somewhere. He slowly crept to the door, finding that it was surprisingly easy to pick the lock and get inside. Granted, more difficult than it would have been on any ordinary individuals home, but not quite what he expected from the cat burglar herself.

He slipped inside quietly, taking a glance around the comfortably furnished living room. It only took moments for him to spot a familiar sight. There on the couch sat Rory, Colin's old teddy bear from when they were ten. He scooped up the little toy, giving it a look over with a little smirk as memories of so many sleepovers came rushing back to him.

He was quickly snapped out of his trip down memory lane as he heard soft footsteps approaching. He quickly ducked to hide behind the couch as the footsteps drew nearer, walking into the living room and heading towards the kitchen. When he is sure the figure is facing away from him, Damian takes a peak over the couch, still holding Rory, smirking when he sees that familiar mop of ginger hair. He takes a moment to take a steadying breath. He was somewhat taken aback by how nervous he actually was, now that the moment had arrived… It was like returning to his family all over again.

"You _still_ have Rory?" he heard himself ask as he stood. Granted, that was not exactly how he pictured the first words he spoke to Colin in six years going, but he supposed it was better to dive right in and hope for the best.

Colin let out a yelp of surprise, dropping the cat that had been in his arms and whirling around to face the intruder, wide eyed and frightened, clearly caught entirely off guard. When his eyes landed on Damian, all colour drained from his already pale face and his mouth hung open, entirely frozen for a long moment in utter disbelief. It couldn't be… It was impossible…

"W-Who are you?! _What_ are you?! You… You can't be… I must be dreaming again… No! No, no, no, no, no!" He backs up to a wall, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and already rolling down his freckled cheeks, shaking his head as he continues to stare with those wide, mistrustful eyes.

"Wilkes… It's me. I've returned.." he tries to speak, moving towards his retreating friend, intending to carry on and say more, before being abruptly cut off

"NO!" the ginger shrieked, glaring at Damian now through his tears "They told me Damian was _dead_! He was dead and gone, and I was all alone again!" he roared, outraged that whoever this imposter was would ever claim to be Damian.

His reaction took the young Arab by surprise, blinking in shock. He had expected that Colin might get somewhat volatile during this encounter, but not like this. The hurt in the boy's voice sent a chill straight through Damian. He would have taken a knife to the gut any day over this feeling.  
"But I'm bac-"

"You are not him!" he found himself cut off once again by an angry roar from the teary eyed teen "Do _not_ lie to me about that! Damian is gone! He… He's _gone_…"  
The last word comes out as little more than a choked whisper, as Colin sinks down against the wall to sit on the floor, hiding his face in his hands and sobbing as quietly as he could manage.

Instinct took over before Damian even had time to register what was happening, hurrying over and placing Rory in Colin's arms, one thing that had always calmed him when they were younger.

"When we were ten we snuck out on a late patrol together, when Batman thought we were having a sleepover, remember? We went out after we were certain that he had already gone home. We beat up those bad guys, and I got that scrape on my cheek, right here…" he mumbles quietly, pointing at the spot on his own cheek where he had gotten the most minor of injuries.

"When we returned to your room in the orphanage you insisted on putting no less than three bandages on it, even though it didn't need any. Then you tried to kiss it better, like your nuns did. You made fun of me for blushing, so I pushed you off the bed… You scraped your elbow, and absolutely refused to shut up about it, so I snatched it and kissed it better… Even though it was stupid and childish and fixed absolutely nothing."

By the time Damian had finished speaking, Colin was looking at him again, his wide eyes staring in utter shock. "I-It's really you… Isn't it..?" he asks hesitantly, as if speaking the words might shatter the moment or break the spell, leaving him to wake up in his bed to realise for the millionth time that it was all just a dream.

"-Tt-… Yes, you idiot. It's me." He scoffs at the boy's hesitant tone, but is completely and totally cut off from reacting any further as Colin launches himself at Damian, his arms wrapping so tightly around his long lost friend's neck that they begin to cut off some of his air supply, sobbing uncontrollably as he clutches him for dear life.

"H-How?! How are you back? They said that you… That you… You died Damian! You died and you left me alone!" he sobs loudly, but refused to let go for even a second. He was obviously rather emotionally conflicted. He was sceptical, overjoyed, outraged, curious, and so many other things that he couldn't even begin to process right now.

Damian finds himself choking up a little too at Colin's words. There was that awful feeling again… Like guilt, but so much worse. It was like his very insides were twisting in rebuke for leaving Colin. "I didn't mean to… I swear I didn't mean to…" he says quietly, arms wrapping around Colin as he spoke, absolutely refusing to let himself cry. "I'm sorry Wilkes… I'm so sorry."

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, before he begins to explain everything to Colin. He went through everything that he had told his family, as difficult as it was, he repeated it all for Colin as he sat there on the floor with his friend.

To say that Colin was in shock by the end of his story would have been an understatement. The boy could hardly process what he had been told. It was all so terrible…  
"Six years… Six whole years? But… But you never told me you were alive? You let me think you were dead all this time?"

The question was laced with so much hurt Damian could hardly take it. He knew he deserved it… His family he had reason to have kept it all secret from for the past few years, given that he thought they murdered him, but Colin… His only reason for keeping his existence a secret from Colin now sounded stupid beyond all belief, even to him, given what he now knew to be the truth.

"I wanted to tell you, I honestly did. You deserved to know, but my mother wanted nobody to know. I couldn't risk telling you, Wilkes, she may have killed you if she found out you knew. But… I visited every time I was in Gotham. I always made sure to find you, to make sure that you were alright…" he admits, slightly embarrassed now that he was actually admitting it aloud.

Colin still felt somewhat hurt that he had not been told, but given everything he had learned today, he could understand Damian's reasoning. That, coupled with just how overjoyed he was to have him back, meant that the ginger boy couldn't have stayed angry if he tried. It was all too good to be true. He had Damian back. He had pictured this a thousand times over, but he had always been pulled back to reality by the fact that it was just a mere fantasy, and that Damian was dead. But now… Now he was here. He had come home, and finally it wasn't a dream. Damian was back, and Colin couldn't have been happier.


End file.
